


the same story the crow told me (it's the only one he knows)

by thegreatpumpkin



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/thegreatpumpkin
Summary: Celebrian comes to court and discovers her cousin the King is not precisely what she expected.





	the same story the crow told me (it's the only one he knows)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/gifts).



> For the purposes of this fic, I'm going with the version of canon where Orodreth is Galadriel's brother rather than her nephew. Fight me.

After Eregion—heavy and winter-hardy in style, ringed about yearlong with dark holly boughs—strolling through the pale delicate architecture and salt air of Lindon felt like flying. Celebrían had never seen the seaside cities of the Teleri, her grandmother’s people, but she liked to imagine Lindon held some echo of that faraway aesthetic.

She’d been very young when her parents had left Lindon to begin Eregion. She supposed she was still young now, though she did not feel it—on the contrary, she felt grown-up and important, in a way she never did at home. She’d had new gowns made, one of rose silk for court occasions, and a lightweight summer wool for the rest. Her traveling dress was the same as always, but she’d taken a needle to it herself the night before leaving, and changed the shape just enough that it no longer looked like something her mother would wear.

The world seemed big and full of possibility here near the sea, with the watery horizon stretching off endlessly instead of being cut short by evergreens or mountains. Her parents would come in another month, but until then she was the only representative of her family in the capitol. The freedom was dizzying. Even her attendants were her own ladies, not her mother’s, so no matronly chaperones were there to hamper their giggling and good spirits.

A friendly young guard had taken it upon himself to guide them in from the road—Celebrían had a fairly good idea why he’d volunteered for that particular duty—and Araton, the King’s steward, had taken them over at the palace gates. The journey had been altogether pleasant, and their rooms were lovely if very foreign-seeming in their architecture and decor. Araton assured her he would find her a place at the King’s own table for supper, though he regretted it might not be terribly close to his Highness, as they’d made it a full night earlier than expected. (Celebrían did not tell him that was because she’d been too excited to take the trip at a sensible pace. Let him blame it on the mild weather.)

She did not remember her cousin Ereinion very well, though she was excited to mingle in his court. She had a vague impression of height and fair hair, but then again most of her mother’s kin were tall—she had her stature from her father’s side, unfortunately. Apparently Ereinion had once given her a little carved wooden spear as a gift, and she’d immediately used it to hit him with all the strength her toddler arms could bring to bear.

Hopefully he wouldn’t recall that—or at least, if he did, she prayed he would keep it to himself. That sort of story could make someone a laughingstock even in Eregion, nevermind the glamorous world of the royal court.

Her mother would have told her that the court’s opinion had only the weight she gave it, but she was not her mother, thank you all the same.

~

Speaking of the court’s opinion—it _was_ a rapacious beast.

Her mother’s lessons had prepared her well for the fast-paced give-and-take of court conversation. What she had _not_ prepared for was the gossip about the King, even at the King’s own table. She suspected it was at least partially for her benefit, being a new face and also a potential source of information, but she could not imagine anyone speaking of her parents this way at their supper-table.

“You said you’re the King’s cousin?” the young man at her right asked, turning the full force of his dimpled smile on her. _He probably makes a lot of headway with that smile_ , Celebrían thought with amusement, _though not with me_. She made a gesture of agreement. “First cousins?”

“Yes. His father was my mother’s brother.”

“You’re close then?” This from a bright-eyed lady on the dimpled smiler’s far side. Celebrían liked her freckles and the sharp point of her tiny nose.

“Not so. I haven’t been in Lindon since I was small. He corresponds with my parents, of course, but mostly on official matters.”

“Who _was_ his father?” The smiler looked sly now, and she decided she didn’t like him particularly well. Did he mean to catch her out lying about her own family?

“Orodreth, naturally. Who was yours?” she snapped, then regretted the outburst, though the freckled girl burst into delighted titters.

“Easy, there!” said the smiler, holding up his palms in a conciliatory way. “I was honestly asking. You know there’s some debate about it here, don’t you?”

Celebrían was shocked. “How can there be? It’s a known fact. Who would dare debate such things about the King, anyway?”

Another girl across the table chimed in. “It’s only because he thinks it’s funny. Whenever anyone asks, he gives half-answers, or says that only his mother knows for sure.”

“Why should they ask in the first place? Is that the custom here, to speculate on everyone’s parentage?” Celebrían felt wrong-footed and cross. “Where I come from it’s very rude.”

Freckles was looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. “Not everybody. Just—I suppose—they say there’s no record Orodreth had a son. And yet here he is.” She shifted the remnants of her supper around with her fork, contrite now under Celebrían’s gaze. “Just happenstance, I suppose. A lot was lost when Nargothrond fell. Nobody’s questioning his right to—he’s a good king. Well-liked. It’s just a curiosity, that’s all.”

The smiler wasn’t as clever as Freckles, not recognizing Celebrían’s expression for the warning it was. Handsome boys never did, too used to charming their way out of trouble. “I heard even the survivors of Nargothrond never knew anything of Orodreth having a son.”

“I’ve heard he’s the son of Fingon the Valiant!” Across-the-Table offered.

The smiler sneered. “Not with that hair, he’s not.” Then to Celebrían, in a falsely conciliatory tone— “I’m sure he’s precisely who you think he is, my lady. I’m just saying, if you wanted to raise your station, it would be convenient to take a different father once no one was around who could dispute your word.”

Celebrían stood up.

“Perhaps the King finds your speculation amusing, and that is all well for him. But if you wish to speak to me, you will do it with respect, and refrain from implying untoward things about my family.” She could feel people starting to stare from further down the table, and hoped the heat in her cheeks was not so visible in the low light of the hall.

She lifted her head proudly, intending to turn on her heel and stride out in a perfect imitation of her mother. But something else—someone else—caught her gaze. At the head of the table, the King had turned to look, and their eyes met.

He was half-smiling, and she flushed even hotter—with shame or embarrassment, she could not tell which. She was not sorry for standing her ground, though she was a little sorry for disrupting the peace of his table. Ereinion did not seem bothered, though.

They gazed at one another for a long moment, Celebrían unable to decide whether she should make some gesture of apology and weaken herself before the rude courtiers, or brazen it out and risk offending her cousin. Then Ereinion broke the stalemate by winking at her, turning back to the conversation around him as easily as if nothing had happened.

She swallowed. It had only been a moment, for all it had seemed endless; she could still execute her departure with cold dignity. When she turned, her ladies had already risen from their seats at other tables to join her, which steadied her a little; they glided silent and proud together out of the hall, and she felt stronger for their support.

~

He invited her to breakfast the next morning.

Celebrían reminded herself sternly that such an invitation was the polite thing to do, and not necessarily an excuse to scold her in a less public forum; besides, he was her cousin, and she oughtn’t feel apologetic for defending his honor. Still, she was cross with nerves. Thanneth stroked her hair before plaiting it back and kissed her temple in a way she had not since they were both girls and less conscious of the difference in their stations. It made her feel a bit childish, but it was soothing, nonetheless.

She had expected it to be intimate, but she did not quite expect to be escorted into the King’s personal sitting-room, or to be entirely alone with him save for their respective attendants. She was struck with nerves of an entirely different sort.

Ereinion did not give her much time to brood on it. He stood when she entered, a broad grin splitting his handsome face, and strode over to embrace her warmly. “Cousin! I half-feared you wouldn’t join me at a table again after last night. Whatever did Lord Costion say to you? Shall I have him banished? I can do that, you know.”

Celebrían found herself relaxing at his cheerful exuberance, though she thought it best not to go into the specifics. “That’s the name of the smiler, I suppose. No need for banishment. I may have overreacted—he was just a garden-variety gossip.”

Ereinion snorted and pulled out a chair for her. “That’s a good name for him. They all are, though, you’ll find. Gossiping keeps them from getting into worse trouble.” He was a smiler, too, though nothing like the smug Lord Costion. He smiled as if there were a little too much cheer for him to contain it all, and it was not so much an aimed attack as blind scattershot. He was also even more handsome when he smiled, a fact Celebrían found herself noticing with far less detachment than she usually might have; he had the golden coloring of her mother’s people, but more solid, square features that must have come from his own mother’s side. It was a good look.

Well, he was family, of course she was inclined to think well of him. “I’m not so sure gossiping isn’t trouble in and of itself,” she said, taking a pastry from the spread between them to stop herself staring too long.

“Oh, I see. Let me guess, was it about my parentage?” He paused with a berry halfway to his mouth, the grin breaking loose again. He had a chipped front tooth—presumably from the same battle that put the faint scar across his lower lip—and Celebrían thought with some annoyance how very silly it was to find such imperfections so charming. “Whose son am I this week? I tried to get Elrond to put about the word I belonged to Tuor and Idril, but he didn’t find that as funny as I did.”

Elrond—his herald, of course, Eärendil’s son. Celebrían hadn’t met the man yet, but she was already harboring some fellow-feeling for him. “ _You_ started the rumors?”

“No, that one was just a whim of the moment. Mostly they come about all on their own.” Ereinion looked far too pleased with himself. “I admit to encouraging them now and again.”

Celebrían found her patience fraying, nevermind that he was the king. “Why? Are you ashamed to be Orodreth’s son?”

He paused, startled, and the smile fell away. “Of course not. That isn’t—it has nothing to do with—” He sighed noisily, gestured for a moment at nothing in particular, then seemed to gather the words he was trying to find. “I just find it funny how people can seize on one discrepancy with a perfectly simple, perfectly obvious explanation, then come up with a theory exponentially more complicated and silly and _wrong_.”

“You mean about Orodreth having no son?” She tsked, waving half her pastry for emphasis. “Their sources are wrong, obviously. You’d think my mother vouching for you would be enough! She should know, after all.”

“To be fair to the skeptics,” he said, mischief written in the creases around his eyes, “your mother wasn’t actually present for the period in dispute.”

“Celebrimbor, then! He must have known you in Nargothrond.” There was another cousin she got on well with, though a more distant one. Sometimes she thought if it hadn’t been for Celebrimbor, her mother would stop acknowledging that branch of the family entirely.

“He did. I suppose he’d vouch for me if I asked him to.” There was something in his expression she couldn’t quite interpret.

“Surely someone else has asked him, if this is so great a topic for speculation.”

“You know Tyelpe keeps his counsel. I doubt he would give any answer at all unless I specifically asked him to.” He winked at her, and her stomach turned sideways. Why should she find it so disorienting, when he’d done the same last night?

“You are a difficult beast,” she said at last, no longer cowed by his position even if she was a little off-balance from his demeanor. It was rude of her and she didn’t think she cared.

Ereinion laughed, bright and surprised and genuine. “So Elrond tells me too. Truly, cousin, I am glad you’ve come to Lindon. There are so few people who will give me a genuine telling-off when I deserve it.”

“Well,” Celebrían said, pretending not to notice the warm glow in her chest, “add one to the number. Pass the jam, won’t you?”

~

Freckles turned out to be called Lady Nemeth, and she was the most tolerable of the court nobles.

She was a sweet thing, really, but easily led; it was probably quite difficult for a girl like her to stand up to the smiler. She seemed relieved that Celebrían was there to knock him down a peg any time he got vicious, and even more so when he grew fed up and started avoiding them both.

Which was not to say that she could curb the gossiping habit entirely.

“The King seems very fond of your company,” she said to Celebrían after a fortnight, her eyes shining in the way of young women teasing their friends the world over. “Mayhap you weren’t close before, but you certainly are now.”

Celebrían wouldn’t have said it in front of the others, but she felt a little more at ease with Nemeth now. “My cousin is too good-natured for his health. He’d befriend anyone that didn’t immediately draw weapon on him. I only get priority by virtue of being family.”

“That’s not true at all.” Nemeth turned her head, admiring herself in the looking-glass; apparently Thanneth did much finer braids than her own lady’s maid. “He’s friendly to everyone, but that isn’t the same as being friends. He admires you. And he’s always laughing when you two walk together.”

“At his own jokes,” Celebrían said, rolling her eyes. “He likes a captive audience.”

“You don’t like him, then?”

“Well,” Celebrían hedged. “They are good jokes. I won’t deny he’s fun company.”

Nemeth’s satisfied little smile said _I told you so_ before she even opened her mouth. “Fun _and_ nice to look at.”

Celebrían peered in the glass herself, decided to switch out the drops in her ears. The warm rose-pink tourmalines instead of the pearls, she thought. “Don’t get any ideas. Men rarely stoke my fires.”

Nemeth understood her implication correctly, judging by the shyly wary look she threw in Celebrían’s direction.

Celebrían didn’t bother looking away from the glass. “Don’t worry. You’re very pretty, but also very not my type.” Not entirely true—she did have a weakness for freckles—but anyone worried about whether she might have designs on them became automatically _not her type_.

Nemeth relaxed, which was a _slight_ point in her favor. “I think the King will be disappointed to hear that.”

“I’ll make sure to inform him at the earliest opportunity,” Celebrían said blithely, “so he has plenty of time to grieve.”

She had been joking about giving him the news, of course. Still, a few days later, she found herself blurting out, “I have a rumor for you. Since you’re so fond of them.”

They had been walking together through the gardens—Celebrían was very fond of the flowering trees, which had a much longer season here at the temperate seaside than at home. Ereinion stopped in the middle of the path, looking delighted; since they were linked arm-in-arm, Celebrían was pulled to an abrupt stop too. “Tell me. Is it a scandalous one?”

She couldn’t help smiling a little, much though she tried not to be charmed by him. “Barely. Perhaps for the very sheltered. They are first cousins, I suppose.”

His eyes glittered, his smile widening. “Who are?”

“The objects of this rumor, of course.” She tugged at his arm and they began walking again, putting their heads close together as if sharing some delicious secret. “They say the young king is spending quite a lot of time with a lady newly come from Eregion.”

“Is that so?” His voice was playful. “But shouldn’t he spend time with her, if they are cousins?”

She pointed at him with her free hand, as if acknowledging a well-put argument in a debate. “So I said! Apparently all they do when they are together is laugh. I’m told it’s a sure sign of something more.”

“I’ve met the lady in question,” he said, “she _is_ exceedingly amusing. Laughter could be simply laughter.” He pretended to consider. “But then again...”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t tell tales.”

“Tell me!” She shouldered him gently, trying to disguise the way her heart was pounding. “I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

“ _Well_.” He bent his head a little further, lowering his voice until it was just the barest breath of voice against her ear. “I _have_ seen the way she looks at him. _Mooning_ doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Celebrían shoved him in earnest now, laughing indignantly. “Mooning! _Hardly_. Won’t he be disappointed to discover that men aren’t the ones who turn her head?”

Once it left her lips, she immediately wished to recall it. She hadn’t meant to say it in that way. Eru, what if he really had been interested, and she’d thrown that down so coldly?

(What if _she_ really had been interested, and she’d just ruined her own chances of—?)

Ereinion began to laugh. It was a rich, loud laugh, full of mirth; once Celebrían got past her surprise, she could not help but join him.

“I suppose that would quench the rumor entirely, wouldn’t it,” he said at last, and Celebrían tried not to like the way his grin stretched the tiny scar.

“Let’s not tell them,” she said, tucking her hand back into the crook of his arm. “Let them speculate.”

“I think I may be a bad influence on you,” he told her, and did not have the decency to look the least bit sorry about it.

~

It seemed all too short a time before her parents’ retinue arrived.

Which was not to say she wasn’t pleased to see them. She’d been too distracted to get very homesick, but in truth she had rarely been away from either of them for so long a stretch, and never both at once. She greeted them with excitement, found herself spilling out tales of the things she’d seen and done in their absence; her father wrapped her up in a tight hug and her mother kissed her forehead, and she forgot for a moment that she’d ever wanted to be here without them.

Still, there was a measure of freedom lost with their arrival. For one, they were on her mother’s schedule now. Idleness was for other people; Celebrían’s day suddenly had a good deal of structure now, when she’d gone without any for weeks.

Spending time with the King was, of course, a sanctioned activity. But that had its own complications. Now that it had to be put into the schedule, in neat little blocks alongside everything else, it was increasingly difficult to deny the frequency of their meetings. _Celebrían_ didn’t mind, of course, but her parents found it a matter of more concern.

Celeborn tried gentle redirection, as was his way. “I suspect your cousin has quite a lot of work to do, and we’ll all see him at supper. Why don’t you show me the waterfalls you were telling us about?”

She had always appreciated his way of handling things, but now she felt bitter and annoyed. She was not a toddler, to be distracted from one toy with another. And she certainly wasn’t taking any of Ereinion’s time that he was unwilling to give.

Galadriel was more direct. “I’m glad you’ve represented us well, ind-nîn, and I know you have been just as kind and agreeable a guest as we could hope. But there is much you have yet to learn, including that it is best to be a cordial ally to the other powers at the table, rather than a friend. Do not grow too attached. He is a King before he is your cousin.”

She could feel her father wince at that last sentence, and well he might. Perhaps her mother could separate relationships from duty, but Celebrían could not and did not care to. Anyway, whatever power her parents might bring to bear was by virtue of their own deeds, not hereditary, and she could not claim it. Saying there were _other_ powers at the table implied she was one, which was laughably optimistic.

Still, she pretended to heed them, scheduling any number of activities with her ladies. If Ereinion chose to invite himself along—or interrupt those activities with some invitation of his own—well, that was a royal prerogative, surely, and Celebrían could hardly refuse.

In a less gossipy court it might even have worked. But it was not long before the rumors she’d teased Ereinion with weeks ago reached her parents’ ears. And unlike Ereinion, her mother could read her all too well when she had reason to try; it was easy enough for her to gather that, at least on one side, the rumors were edging on truth.

Celebrían could not have predicted the reaction, though.

Her mother was the patient one, which was...not how things tended to go.

“We understand why, of course. He _is_ very charismatic, and it can be very tempting to involve oneself.” 

“It seems to run in the blood,” Celeborn said, but it was not in his usual tone of gentle observation. If she didn’t know better, Celebrían would have thought he was being _judgmental_. She was quite certain she had never heard him express anything like disapproval of the Noldor side of her heritage before, even with all the tension between their peoples; those disagreements had never seemed to touch her own household.

Galadriel ignored the interruption. “There’s more to Gil-galad than shows on the surface, Celebrían, and it would be unwise to think he’s as simple as he seems. There’s more than your heart at stake, but difficult though it may be to believe it, that is my foremost concern at the moment.”

Celebrían could feel her temper being slowly stoked, a gradual but inevitable rise in temperature. “Just because you can’t read someone doesn’t mean they’re lying.”

Galadriel did not rise to the bait, touching Celebrían’s cheek in a gesture of sympathetic affection. “Just as caring for someone doesn’t mean they’re telling the truth, my darling.”

“He hasn’t made me any promises, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Celebrían didn’t quite dare pull away from the touch, but she leaned back as soon as she felt she could get away with it.

“Nor will he, if he knows his place.” The words were so unexpected coming from Celeborn, she almost couldn’t parse them at first. The thread of steel in her father’s voice was entirely unfamiliar to her.

“I beg your pardon?” She’d heard her mother say those words a hundred times before, usually as an opening to give whoever she was speaking with enough rope to hang themselves. They came out of her own mouth unbidden, but she could feel the righteous buzz of them on her tongue, and better understood how Galadriel used them to such effect.

“He should know better.” He was addressing her mother more than Celebrían; her temper finally caught for good, blazing up in a hot roar.

She stood up. “I haven’t done anything wrong, and he _certainly_ hasn’t. I’ve heard quite enough. I’m going to my own room.”

Celeborn nodded tightly. “And you may stay there until we find you an appropriate chaperone.” 

_Ha! Try and make me!_ She bit back from speaking it aloud at the last second. She had the advantage here, after all—she had always been an obedient daughter, and even when she’d tried out her boundaries, her father had never been the disciplinarian. 

They probably could stop her, with sufficient determination, but there was no reason to make them think they _needed_ to. She slammed the door behind her and stomped away in the direction of her own quarters.

At least until she turned the corner. Then she composed herself, smiled, and strode quietly in the opposite direction—towards the King’s chambers.

~

Ereinion seemed surprised, but not displeased, to see her. He was decent, but dressed more casually than she’d yet seen him; she tried to focus on why she was here, and not on how much the informality suited him. “Do come in,” he said, stepping back to admit her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My parents don’t trust you,” she said, without thinking.

He raised an eyebrow, motioning for her to sit. “Not to make light of your concerns, but that isn’t a particularly new development. “

“They think—what?” Her mind caught up with what he’d said partway through her own sentence.

“It’s nothing personal. Politics is always that way, in my experience.” He sat close beside her, his expression warm and reassuring. “No one quite trusts me, but they seem to think I’m doing an all right job of managing things, so they leave me to it.” That seemed like an awful way to live, in her humble opinion, but they’d have to dig into that another time. Ereinion was smiling at her again. “Funny thing, though. Elrond thinks I _can_ trust _you_.”

They’d met on several occasions now; she liked Elrond. They would surely become friends, if her father’s disapproval didn’t get in the way of that too. He was part Sindar, at least. “I’m...honored?”

“You should be. He’s a suspicious bastard.” The grin was never gone for long. Ereinion popped back up, holding out a hand to her. “Can I show you something?”

She put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet, warmed through when he kept hold of it and led her through the sitting-room door into a small study.

It was a utilitarian space, clearly meant for focus (probably necessary for someone as easily distractible as her cousin, though she never would have said that aloud). There was little in the way of decoration, save a portrait hanging above the large desk; he drew her over to it, and she examined it more closely.

Her uncle Finrod was easy to recognize—she’d seen plenty of portraits of him, being something of an artists’ darling as he was. She’d seen fewer of Orodreth, but enough to identify him as the second figure in the portrait, standing beside his brother. A woman she didn’t recognize held Orodreth’s arm—his wife, presumably, Ereinion’s mother. And seated before them, a younger woman. She’d never seen a portrait of Finduilas before, but it could not have been anyone else; she and Ereinion could have been twins.

“Your sister?” she said, though it was obviously so.

Ereinion laughed, gentle and warm. “I’m an only child. No, that’s me.” The corners of his mouth quirked at Celebrían’s stunned gaze. “Admittedly, I was younger and sweeter then. But yes, the court is right that my father had no sons. It’s just that no one can ever make the obvious leap and identify his daughter.”

Celebrían knew she was gaping like a fish, but she could not seem to stop. Her cousin smiled down at her for a long moment, but his— _her_ —expression had begun to waver into uncertainty by the time Celebrían finally found her words.

“You— _you_ —”

Celebrían pointed, accusingly, and Erei— _Finduilas_ —began to look worried.

“When I told you I didn’t care for men, you were laughing _at_ me, weren’t you? _Scoundrel!_ ”

The sudden delight in Finduilas’ eyes struck Celebrían right to the heart, and her husky laughter made her weak in the knees. “I wasn’t! I was laughing with you! At myself, maybe. At the situation?” And then, cheekily— “Well, maybe a little.”

“I knew it!” Celebrían pressed a hand dramatically to her heart. “I come here to confess my love, only to find out you’ve been laughing at me all along! My mother was right about you—”

Finduilas caught her wrist, tugging the hand aside, laughing all the while. Suddenly Celebrían found herself leaning into her, hand laid now against Finduilas’ heart instead of Celebrían’s own, and could not immediately say how she’d gotten there. “Let me make it up to you, little cousin,” Finduilas murmured, her eyes sparkling in a way that was delightfully dangerous.

“Not by calling me _little_ cousin, you won’t.” Celebrían pretended to try to escape, entirely gratified when Finduilas caught her by the wrists again and pulled her back.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” Her grin was unapologetic. “A second chance, I beg you.”

“You mean a third chance.”

“Yes, a third chance. Third time’s the charm, they say.”

“As if you need any more charm.” _Kiss me,_ Celebrían thought, _please just kiss me_ —

Finduilas did.

**Author's Note:**

>  _ind-nîn_ \- my heart
> 
> Title from "Uncle John's Band," because the Jimmy Buffett cover is the essence of seaside summer happiness. ~~What can I say I literally grew up in the landlocked city where the term Parrot Head was coined, of course the ocean is forever tied to Jimmy Buffett for me~~


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